A few months ago, rumors circulated in the GHQ corridors about General Asim Munir, not as a rising star but as a man on his way out. There were rumors of internal conflict, leaks suggesting dismissal, and even whispers of arrest. However, a dramatic shift in events occurred. Munir not only escaped political and institutional ruin but also emerged as Field Marshal, the most powerful man in Pakistan, both militarily and politically.
This isn’t just a military promotion—it’s a signal. Pakistan’s power center has entirely shifted back to the uniform, dressed up with religion, inflated by media spin, and sanctioned by a compromised civilian elite.
Narrative Engineering: Operation Bunyan-ul-Marsoos
To repair public perception and control national discourse, the Pakistan Army has launched Operation Bunyan-ul-Marsoos—its signature campaign combining internal defense and external posturing under a name drawn from the Quran, meaning “Fortified Structure.” It is designed not just as a strategy, but as a narrative fortress.
According to state-run media, this operation illustrates how Pakistan stood firm against Indian aggression and upheld national sovereignty. However, recent military engagements, particularly in Balochistan, reveal a darker narrative. Video evidence of soldiers being ambushed and stripped of their uniforms and weapons by Baloch fighters has spread widely, inflicting significant damage to the Army’s reputation.
Instead of introspection, the establishment buried the optics in religious symbolism and martial rhetoric. This strategic manipulation ensured that rather than being held accountable for these defeats, Munir was promoted and celebrated for ‘doing a fabulous job.’
This rewriting of failure into patriotic triumph is not new in Pakistan, but the scale and precision of the narrative machine this time are unprecedented. The military has learned that in the digital age, optics often outweigh outcomes. Hence, the campaign is built not on strategic victory but on emotional appeal and religious overtones.
Political Convenience Dressed as Honour
Behind this promotion lies political desperation. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, aware of his weak legitimacy, has inflated Munir’s stature in exchange for political survival. Backing Munir’s rise is less about respect than securing immunity from military intervention.
But with Munir stepping into the Field Marshal role, the next Army Chief becomes a pawn. The question isn’t whether he’ll align with the civilian government, but whether he’ll serve Munir’s extended authority. This isn’t power-sharing; it’s power consolidation.
And then there are the civilian elites—Sharif and President Asif Zardari, long-time faces of corruption, repeatedly repackaged for international consumption. These men are resuscitated every time Pakistan needs to beg global lenders for money. “Old wine, new bottle” is an understatement—they are spoiled goods rebranded for every new IMF cycle.
This pattern is more than cynical; it’s strategic. The military installs the exact corrupt but controllable figures to placate the West while maintaining de facto control at home. This has created a political culture where performance is irrelevant, and loyalty to Rawalpindi is the only currency that counts.
Religious Rebranding and Civil Rights Erosion
Field Marshal Munir isn’t hiding behind policy language. He’s invoking divine legitimacy—dedicating his promotion to martyrs, the people, and “millions of Asims” who’ve died for Pakistan. This spiritual branding converts his ambition into a sacred mission.
But this kind of religious nationalism has consequences. Minority communities—Ahmadis, Hindus, Christians, Shias—will likely face renewed hostility, as Islamist ideology is woven tighter into military culture and national identity. The narrative of unity through Islam always seems to come at the cost of Pakistan’s diversity.
This is particularly dangerous at a time when economic despair is rising. In such conditions, governments and militaries often turn to scapegoating. History has shown that minorities pay the price when authoritarian regimes look for distractions.
Bangladesh: Rewriting 1971 With Faith
In a strange twist, Munir’s regime has launched a subtle charm offensive toward Bangladesh. The outreach is couched in religious solidarity, recasting the 1971 war not as a brutal military crackdown but as a tragic rift between fellow Muslims. It’s a sanitized retelling of history, designed to build bridges on Islamic identity rather than historical reckoning.
This kind of revisionist diplomacy ignores the genocide, the mass rapes, and the cultural erasure that led to Bangladesh’s independence. It’s not reconciliation—it’s gaslighting.
Yet this gambit serves multiple purposes: isolating India, rewriting Pakistan’s military history, and trying to forge a pan-Islamic alliance in South Asia. Whether Bangladesh will entertain such a revisionist offer remains to be seen.
International Implications: Who Are You Funding?
The IMF and the U.S. government must now reevaluate their assumptions. With a Field Marshal at the helm and democracy on life support, is Pakistan a trustworthy partner? The proposed $314 million F-16 support deal and financial aid should not proceed without rigid scrutiny.
What exactly are these funds propping up? A reformist government? Or a militarised, ideological state drifting further from stability?
Western policymakers often overlook Pakistan’s internal dynamics for short-term regional stability. But each dollar sent without conditional reform deepens the militarisation of a nuclear-armed state that suppresses its citizens while exporting instability.
What the Public Sees: Hero or Hype?
To the people of Pakistan, the situation is increasingly transparent. The Field Marshal title is seen by many not as a badge of honor but as a cover for operational failures and political maneuvering. The term “Failed Marshal” trends quietly on social media, is passed in encrypted apps, and is whispered in student groups.
People are connecting the dots: the military’s obsession with optics, the crumbling economy, and the ongoing disappearance of activists and journalists. They’re beginning to ask: if we’re winning, why are we suffering?
Final Word: Field Marshal or Failed Marshal?
Asim Munir’s ascent wasn’t earned through military victories or political reform. It was manufactured through religious optics, narrative warfare, and elite convenience. He was promoted not due to his success, but because the system required him to seem successful.
The Pakistan Army lost ground, and the people lost faith. However, the elite gained another uniformed savior to shield them from reform, accountability, and public unrest.
Whether Munir becomes a lasting figure or just another flash in Pakistan’s cycle of uniformed strongmen remains to be seen. However, one certainty remains: Munir promised the people a fortress. Instead, they received a facade—a gilded title masking the hollowing of the state.